You Will be the Death of Me
by TreeOfReading
Summary: What would happen if Moira was just a little bit more vindictive and Erik was just a little bit more open? Cherik feels abound.


**AN: I feel so guilty for writing this when I should be working on OLC (among other things), but this idea was just nagging me, and I seriously could not go to sleep without pounding this out.**

Moira MacTaggert is not a stupid woman. She **is** a living, breathing, warm-blooded female, and so it's no surprise when she felt a slight attraction to the man staring intently at her, across the table, with startlingly blue eyes. However, she manages to brush it off. She wouldn't want to prove McCone right.

Despite her best efforts, she knows she has failed the instant she hears Charles's lilting voice in her mind. [He even has that sexy British accent in my mind], she thinks to herself. And promptly shoves it deep into the recesses of her mind, far enough where it will be unnoticed by Charles, and then tries to refocus on what he was directing her to do. She shivered, when she realized that the man she had been talking to was still frozen at the water fountain. She was not turned on in the slightest.

So when Charles practically swooned into the wall of the stairwell on the ship, Moira found herself faintly concerned with his well-being. Not that she showed any signs of it. When he ran back out onto the deck, she followed. Then promptly began screaming for Charles when she saw him throw himself off the ship, all sense of propriety forgotten.

She tried not to feel betrayed when she realized how Charles was looking at the man that he had risked his life for after **just touching his mind**. She tried to reassure herself that Charles would do that for anyone. And then she realized how the man in the wetsuit was looking at Charles, and she knew her chances were shot.

In a completely righteous fit of jealousy and bitchy vindictiveness, when she went to book the rooms for the hotel they would be staying in before they went to Langley (because obviously, they couldn't get back to Virginia from off the coast of Miami that fast), Moira booked only three rooms. Then she took one key, handed one to Raven, and told Erik and Charles in no uncertain terms, that they were going to be sharing.

Erik found that he should be furious, but oddly, for once in his life, he was not. When hands gripped his shoulders, pulling away from damned Schmidt, he had wanted to pull back and punch their owner in the face, but suddenly found he couldn't breathe, and somebody was talking to him in his mind. When they surfaced, Erik was ready to erupt into a tantrum of epic proportions, but found himself drowning in a blue that he didn't even know existed. So much for his life's goal.

As he treaded water, Erik could not stop himself from being drawn in to Charles's eyes. And his blood-red lips. And his floppy brunet hair. And the ways his forehead crinkled as he spoke into Erik's mind. [You are not alone]. Spoken into his mind and his ears at once, Erik reeled back as if he was struck. Such as thought was weak, he reminded himself, yet he found himself wishing it was true. For once in his life, Erik wanted to believe. When he reached the ship, Erik found that he missed Charles's presence at his side. [What are you thinking?] he shouted at himself. [You must not allow yourself to think like this]. But Erik couldn't find it in himself to care.

When he entered the hotel room, Erik simply crumpled into the crisp sheets, and let nothingness wash over him.

Charles was floating. Not literally, course, but figuratively speaking. Night terrors frequented him, especially on those accursed nights when he spent hours working on his dissertation and fell asleep at his desk, forgetting about the coffee that he begrudged to drink every once in a while. Never had Charles slept so peacefully before. Yet, even while his body lay tangled in the cotton sheets, his mind was racing. Charles knew that there were other mutants. He and Raven had reached that conclusion long ago, based on deductive reasoning. Moira's memory had only been proof. But this, meeting Erik, this was something different. From the moment Charles had brushed Erik's mind, a fierce surge of something familiar, reawakened. In the heat of the moment, he had not been able to recognize what the feeling was, but now he had hours to figure it out.

When Charles finally realized what it was, he was confused. He watched a younger version of himself laugh at the dinner table as his mother berated him for having his elbows on the table and his father winked at him. Not his stepfather, but his father. The man who wore wire-rimmed glasses and had a mop of brunet hair that he never bothered to comb, but always ran his fingers through when he came across a particularly challenging word in the newspaper crossword. The man who watched fondly from his bedroom door as him mother tucked him in and hummed some tune that she had heard on the radio that day, and would tickle him silly and sneak him candy when his mother wasn't looking. Charles was confused. He had just begun to ponder this, while another memory caught his attention, this one, faded and yellowed, as if nobody had viewed it in years. It was a little boy, no older than 10, watching a woman braid strands of dough into large loaves. ChaƗka. The word comes from nowhere, and does not even sound like English, but Charles lets the lingering vocalization sweep over him, relaxing his tensed consciousness. Warmth spreading in his chest, Charles lets sleep claim him.

When Erik awakens, he breathes in, and breathes out. He has never had such a peaceful slumber, ever since the years after Schmidt. Every night, he relives his mother's death, and the grating sound of "eins, zwei, drei" keep him from sleep. Along with the sounds of gunshots, of course. But not this night, he realizes. Slowly, he opens his eyes, and turns his head to look at the other side of the bed. Charles is as far as he can get from Erik, face smothered into the pillow. Then Erik realizes that their hands have somehow become intertwined during the night. "Scheiße!" and Erik hurriedly leaps out of bed and into the bathroom, rebuking himself for allowing Charles to get so close to him when he's **vulnerable**. Erik reassures himself that this is why he's flushed, and not because he can still feel the comforting heat of Charles's hand, pressed into his.

Moira awakens with the taste of sesame seeds and Earl Grey in her mouth. An odd combination, she thinks to herself, but they somehow marry well.

When she gets downstairs to the breakfast bar the hotel has (Moira would never book a sleazy hotel. Not when the CIA is footing the bill), jealousy flares in her chest, and she resigns herself to sitting across from Raven, as she sees Erik grabbing two plates of food, one for himself, and one for Charles, and they settle in across from each other, eyes never straying from the other's. Moira knows that O's plan (nobody knows his real name but McCone) is to have them take a day to settle in at Division X before getting to work. [Good] she thinks to herself. [I deserve some downtime]. It will take them a day to reach Langley, and Moira's set on driving. She doesn't want to have to deal with a pair of idiots making googly eyes at each other. "Come on now, we don't have time to waste." Moira's irritated voice seems to snap Erik and Charles out of their stupor, and she grins as they each realize they have a full plate of food sitting in front of them.

Charles has never felt more content. Oblivious to the angry glares piercing his side from Moira and Raven, he continues to share his entire life with Erik. It helps that whenever Raven tries to interrupt their psionic conversation, Erik growls at her. Literally growls, as in bares his teeth and tenses. Charles doesn't know whether to be amused, or turned on. He's beginning to suspect he is both.

When they pass the Florida-Georgia border, Charles runs out of things to say, and he prompts Erik to begin talking. He doesn't expect Erik to suddenly shrink back into his seat and break eye contact with him. Charles has never experienced gut-wrenching heartbreak like this since Raven refused to talk to him for a week after he told her that she had to stay in her **normal** form for a while when he was 15. Charles isn't about to let something like that happen again.

Erik is scared. He's never been scared before, not since he killed that Swiss banker, but he is now. And the thought of it frightens him. Never has anyone bared their life, never has anybody **trusted** him, like Charles has. And Erik does not know if he can trust Charles back.

He wants to, that's for certain. Oh God, he wants to. But after knowing nothing but pity and hatred for more than 10 years, Erik doesn't know if he has it in him. Luckily, he's found someone who's willing to meet him halfway.

Raven does not know what to do. She's been purpose-driven all her life, knowing that she will follow Charles wherever he goes, and that it's them against the world. Suddenly, that idea has been turned on its head. She knows Charles's flings, how he acts, and she knows that this not like those. The way Charles is giggling in the backseat, and the way Erik's cheeks redden, she's never seen this before. She's caught at a crossroads, and she knows that she can't keep tagging along with Charles forever, as terrifying as that may be.

Raven yearns to have someone to love her. Love her for who she is, not for who she looks like. She knows Charles loves her, but she also knows that Charles is a narcissistic masochist (weird, yes), and she wouldn't be able to put up with that if he wasn't her brother. For the longest time, Raven has indoctrinated herself with the idea that true love does not exist. At least, not for scaly blue shapeshifting mutants. But now, watching Charles swat Erik in the chest with a napkin, she isn't quite so sure. She doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Moira has never been more relieved to show up at work again, and she feels absolutely giddy at the prospect of getting away from the three kids in the rental car, and getting some much needed rest. Especially if it was as good as last night's. Honestly, she doesn't know how she managed to keep her lips sealed as she glared daggers at the two lovebirds in the backseat, and at the sulking woman sitting next to her. So the minute they pull up next to the compound, Moira shoves **all** of them out, and dumps the car in one of the parking spaces in the back for one of O's lackeys to deal with.

If she felt any lingering traces of affection for Charles, they're gone now, and she gives them her blessing to marry and be out of her hair, because anyone who can survive 17 consecutive hours of mindspeak must really love the other person. Or be mentally unstable. How could her gaydar have failed her this spectacularly? Nevertheless, Moira stumbles into the compound in inky blackness and crashes in the nearest room, thoroughly exhausted.

Charles takes no time to strip out of his clothes and don a loose-fitting flannel shirt and light pants, easing himself onto his bed and vainly attempting to will thoughts of tall, handsome, German men out of his mind. It had been hellish to separate Erik from him, only relenting after Raven bodily threw him into the room across from Erik's.

Erik. It had taken all of Georgia to get him to open his mind to him again, and maybe even a little of South Carolina. Charles had put on his saddest pouty face, and maybe even added a touch of "I'm a puppy and you just kicked me". It had taken all of ten seconds for Erik to reach out and clutch his hand, five minutes, for Erik to shuffle his way back over towards Charles, and after 30 minutes, Charles was nuzzling into Erik's chest. Erik had a very nice chest.

When Charles had felt the faint nudging at the edge of his awareness, he immediately began to pounce, and then drew back and cautiously approached. Erik's mind was carefully structured, like a metal lattice, and personally, Charles wondered why everybody couldn't be like Erik. [Let's work our way backwards], Erik had said, and Charles quivered at the mere memory of his voice. [No, let's start at the beginning]. Erik had grimaced, but acquiesced. Erik's earliest memory had been faded and yellowed, [like the one from my dream], Charles noticed, but beautiful nonetheless. It was of his father, holding a wooden horse above him while Erik squirmed to jump and reach it. Erik had jolted in the seat, and the metal framework of the car thrummed. [I- I didn't know I had that], Erik had sent.

[You, my friend, are so much more than you realize]. Charles cupped Erik's chin, and watched as Erik fought to not draw back. [Thank you]. Neither of them spoke very much after that, but the memories Erik drew out increased frantically, and Charles giggled in delight.

Pleased with the day, Charles lets his head fall back.

Erik was thrashing. Schmidt was staring at him hungrily, holding up a scalpel, when suddenly, the scene melted, and the steel table beneath him became a rug. "You freak!" Erik cried out as a belt buckle tore into his skin, a middle-aged man with thinning black hair and a steely demeanor towering above him. "You're not Schmidt." The man did not hear him, but kept whipping the belt, and Erik could do nothing but stare on in terror. "Your drunk of a mother never should have had you!"

Moira wakes up in a cold sweat, and she scrabbles for the bottle of water on her bedside table. Drinking greedily to soothe her aching throat, she quells the fear exploding in her chest. She frowned, trying to remember the source of her nightmares, when the previous night's slumber had been as if she was floating on clouds. She remembers flashes of pain, searing pain, and then she remembers that the floor beneath her refused to coalesce into a particular form, shifting between cold metal and plush fabric.

Moira knows that Charles is probably capable of this, projecting his dreams out onto others. [But he doesn't seem like the cold metal type to me]. No, he doesn't, she assents, and then she knows what has happened and she knows what she has to do. That doesn't mean she has to like it. Groaning, she commits to a night of restless tossing and turning.

When Charles awakens, it feels as if someone has brained him with a sledgehammer. Hissing, Charles musters the strength to stumble to his suitcase and pull out a bottle of aspirin, packed specially for this. Knowing that he has probably projected, Charles quickly throws on the nearest clothes and crosses the hall, rapping on the door. A bleary-eyed Erik confirms his suspicions, and Charles holds out the glass of water and aspirin he has in his hands. Nodding, Erik opens the door wide enough to take the aspirin and then slams the door shut. Surprised, Charles is about to protest, when he realizes the state of undress Erik was in and his cheeks turn rosy. Turning on his heel, Charles resolves to find the dining hall.

"I need a favor." Moira watches as O's eyebrows shoot up, and he turns more to face her.

"What makes you think I will humor you?" O teases, legs on his desk.

"Because I found the mutants." Moira knows he can't fight her when he slumps, legs crossing.

"What is it?" O takes his legs off the desk and sits up to regard her shrewdly.

"I need you to make some excuse to Charles and make him bunk with Erik." O splutters. "Did you sleep well?" O wearily looks up at her, and shakes his head. "All I know is that I slept like a baby in Miami, and now Erik and Charles are sleeping apart and I can't sleep if I was drunk."

"I'll see what I can do. For everybody's sake." Moira nods and walks out, heels clacking.

Erik is settling in nicely, the aspirin helping to dispel any remaining gloom from his strange nightmare. Having enjoyed a filling breakfast [You spent the entire time staring at Charles] his mind accuses, he begins to unpack select items. [You should have left last night], his mind supplies. Erik knows that two days ago, he would have left. But two days ago, he did not know Charles, and that seems to become an ever increasing difference. [What stopped you?] Erik does not know what stopped him. Erik wants to think that it's because he can't defeat Schmidt without Charles, but that's not why. Charles has given him a reason to think about what will happen after he kills Schmidt. Before Charles he never even thought about anything but Schmidt's death. Now, he seems to not be able to put the telepath out of his mind. Erik isn't sure if he wants to.

"Your room was found to have a termite infestation." Charles's eye twitches. "You're going to have to move into Erik's room." Suddenly, Charles forgets all about the waves of guilt rolling off of O, and barely restrains himself from jumping up and down.

"I'll just go-"

"Your things have already been moved." Charles nods, and suddenly does not know what to say, so watches as O stiffly stalks away, probably to review some important issues. Charles cannot bring himself to care. [I'm sleeping with Erik! Well, not, uhh...] Charles blushes at the images brought to mind, and suddenly feels the urge to take a shower.

"Charles will be moving into your room." Erik nearly drops the weight he had been lifting, and splutters. "He had a termite infestation." Erik lets the information process and gruffly nods, dismissing the suit. O huffs and leaves.

[Great loverboy, isn't this what you wanted?] Erik tells his mind to shut up. Sweating, he sets down the dumbbells and trots off for a shower. Navigating the twisting halls easily by sensing for his metal possessions, he quickly finds his room, despite the multitude of doors that look exactly the same. "Mein gott," Erik mutters. Stepping into his room, he freezes when he hears water running, and relaxes when he realizes it is Charles. Then he realizes that Charles is showering in his room. About to beat a hasty retreat, he is frozen in his tracks when he hears a whimper coming from the bathroom, followed by a low, rumbling moan.

Erik can feel his blood pumping in his veins, and his hindbrain tells him to sneak closer to the door, while his forebrain says to leave this compound and never come back. His legs move of their own accord, taking him closer to the noise, and his mind is quick to reprimand him. [Pervert! You're nothing but a creepy ass voyeur! What will happen if Charles catches you?] The doorknob unlocks and turns, and the door silently opens a fraction of an inch. Enough for Erik to hunch over and crane his head awkwardly to peer into the bathroom.

Charles's hand is pumping furiously, and Charles is leaned onto the tile wall, head bowed down as he whimpers, hoping the shower will drown out the squelching. [Stupid Erik], he thinks, [and his stupid stormy grey eyes and his stupid copper hair and his stupid turtlenecks], and suddenly he is hit by a wave a lust so powerful that he comes immediately, semen splattering up and down the glass panels of the shower. Charles has never felt anything so carnal, so... pleasurable. He likes it.

Erik tries to stop himself from moaning but biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. It works. He has never seen anything so sensual as Charles, his throbbing red cock jerking rhythmically as stripes of cum coat the shower. He almost leans on the door, but stops himself, leaping onto the bed and snatching a magazine from the bedside to hide his raging erection when he feels Charles grip the metal shower handle. He attempts to shove his dirty thoughts to the back of his mind, when Charles steps out of the bathroom, clad in only a towel wrapped around his lower body.

Charles freezes in his tracks when he sees Erik sitting, legs crossed, on the bed, eyes raking over his torso like he's positively **edible**. Charles notes Erik's ruffled hair, sweat streaming down his face, and his ragged breathing. "Were you working out?" Erik nods, look back down at the magazine in his lap. "I guess O told you the news." Another nod. "Erik, look at me," Charles demands, and Erik flushes as he looks up. "What are you hiding?"

"I think I'm going to go see how Raven is-" Erik gasps as he feels Charles enter his mind, slipping into his thoughts, and quickly uncovers what he was hiding. Ashamed, Erik slips off the bed and shuffles towards the door.

"Erik." Erik doesn't so much as turn around. "Erik!" Guilty-faced, Erik turns to face Charles, and does a double take when he sees a smirk on his face. "Where are you going?"

"Uhh... I mean- I thought-" Erik is silence by Charles holding up his hand.

"This just means I get to see you naked." Before this even registers in Erik's mind, he feels Charles's lips pressed over his own, and he opens his mouth, their tongues clashing in the middle, and suddenly Erik is pressed against the wall [No, this won't do at all], and now Charles is writhing on the wall, grinding his burgeoning erection into Erik's pants, and the towel lay discarded on the floor.

**AN: Please review with any complaints, comments, suggestions, and any mistakes or typos that you've caught, or anything in general that's wrong. Someone too OOC? Write a review! Too "fix-it"? Write a review! Also: should I leave it at this, or should there be follow up chapters?**


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